Into His Private Domain

by Janice Maynard

He turned to Gracie, his smile gentle. “Let’s get you checked out, little lady. I promise not to torture you too badly.”

  Unlike Gareth, Jacob trusted her to walk on her own. She abandoned her cocoon of blankets in the foyer and followed him down a hallway to the back of the house. Everything was in black and white—walls, flooring, artwork… A highly sophisticated color scheme, but oddly cold and sterile.

  When she stepped through a door into the clinic proper, all became clear. Jacob Wolff had designed his house to mirror his professional domain.

  Gracie’s curiosity as she surveyed the state-of-the-art facility had nothing to do with her amnesia. She had never seen such equipment and facilities outside of a hospital. Even with her memory loss, she was sure of that.

  As Jacob positioned the CT scanner, she cocked her head. “I may not remember much, but isn’t this setup a little unusual?”

  His quick glance reminded her of Gareth. “I have a number of high profile patients who want to be able to get medical attention away from the eyes of the paparazzi.”

  She gaped. “Like movie stars?”

  He shrugged, adjusting a dial. “Politicians, movie stars… Fortune 500 CEOs.”

  Something must have shown on her face, because his expression grew fierce. “Having wealth doesn’t make a person’s right to privacy any less important. I’m fortunate enough to have the means to give them anonymity and quality medical care.”

  She held up her hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

  “You were thinking it.” He motioned to the machine. “Have a seat. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You won’t be closed in.”

  She sat gingerly on the narrow bench and tensed as he slid rubber wedges on either side of her head, immobilizing her skull in a semicircle of metal. The camera thingy rotated around her upper body in several quick passes, and it was all over.

  Jacob waved her into a chair. “Now I’ll show you the inside of your head. Hopefully we won’t see anything too alarming.”

  She sat down gingerly. “As long as you find a brain…that’s all I ask.”

  He chuckled, but didn’t speak as he brought up the 3-D images on the screen. Gracie waited, her heart pumping madly. Jacob examined the results with the occasional unintelligible murmur.

  Gracie lost patience. “Well?”

  He pushed back his chair and turned to face her. “I don’t see anything alarming…no fractures…nothing to require further medical attention. You have swelling, of course, as a result of the blow to your head, but even that is in the normal range.”

  She bit her lip, disappointment roiling in her stomach. If there was nothing to substantiate her amnesia, Gareth would think, more than ever, that she was liar.

  Jacob seemed to read her thoughts. “Absence of fractures doesn’t discount your current situation. All jokes aside, temporary amnesia is more common than you might think. And we have every reason to think it will resolve itself naturally.”

  “But when?” she cried, springing to her feet. “How can I go to sleep tonight and not know who the hell I am?”

  Jacob leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. “You do know who you are,” he said gently. “You’re Gracie Darlington. It may take a little while for your brain to accept that as fact. But it will happen. I promise.”

  Gracie stewed inwardly as he finished his exam. As expected, the X-ray of her leg showed no sign of any damage other than the bad cut.

  After a quick check of temp, blood pressure and a few other markers, Jacob patted her shoulder. “You’ll live,” he teased.

  They walked back through the house and found Gareth sprawled on an ivory leather sofa. The thick, onyx carpet underfoot was a sea of inky, lush luxury.

  Gareth bounded to his feet. “Sit here,” he commanded Gracie. “I want to talk to my brother.”

  Despite the fact that they lowered their voices, Gracie heard every word.

  Gareth grilled her doctor. “Well…could you tell if the amnesia is for real?”

  Jacob muttered a curse. “This isn’t an exact science, Gareth. All her symptoms fit the profile. But I can’t give you any hard-and-fast answers. My medical opinion is yes, she’s very likely telling us the truth. That’s the good news. The bad news is that amnesia is a tricky bastard. It might be tomorrow morning or next week before she gets it all back.” He paused and grimaced. “It could be several months. We have no way of knowing.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  Gareth’s heartfelt disgust lodged like a thorn in Gracie’s heart.

  Jacob walked back into the living room, giving Gracie a gentle smile. “Take her home and put her to bed,” he said to his brother. “Things always look better in the morning.”

  Three

  Put her to bed. Gareth tensed inwardly as images teased his brain. Him. Gracie. Tumbling with abandon between the sheets on his comfortable king-size mattress. He’d never brought a woman into his bedroom on Wolff Mountain. Whenever his physical needs overrode his phenomenal control, he sought out one of a handful of women who were as much loners as he was. Mature women who weren’t interested in relationships.

  But the last such encounter had been ages ago. And the Wolff was hungry. Put a red hood on Gracie, and she’d be in big trouble. Or maybe she was in trouble already. Taking advantage of a damsel in distress wasn’t his style, but then again, he had never felt such a visceral and instantaneous response to a woman.

  He wanted her desperately, and they had only met. At some anonymous bar in a big city he could have invited her back to his room. But this was Wolff Mountain, and different rules applied. Though he was a reluctant host, he had no business lusting after her.

  She stood up, her expression half defiance, half vulnerability. “Couldn’t I stay here, Jacob? You know…in case anything happens.”

  “No way.” Gareth blurted it out, uncensored.

  Jacob and Gracie stared at him.

  He shrugged, refusing to admit he had a proprietary interest in the redhead. “Jacob’s a soft touch.” He directed his remarks to Gracie. “I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Jacob frowned at his brother. “Gareth’s bark is worse than his bite, Gracie. He’ll take good care of you. But don’t worry. I’ll be around in the morning to see how you’re doing.” He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Try not to worry. Everything will be fine. I’d stake my license on it.”

  Gareth ushered Gracie back out to the Jeep, this time letting her walk on her own. He’d liked holding her too damn much. It was best to keep his distance.

  The short ride back was silent. Temperatures had dropped, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gracie pull the blankets to her chin. When they arrived at the house, he realized that he was actually going to have to be hospitable. And since she swayed on her feet from exhaustion, he shouldn’t waste any time.

  He motioned for her to follow him. At the insistence of his architect brother Kieran, Gareth had agreed to a five-bedroom home. The square footage had seemed like a useless expenditure during construction…and now, four of the bedrooms sat unoccupied. But at least for tonight, Gracie would have a place to lay her head.

  He showed her the suite that would be hers…for a very short time, he promised himself. Too long, and his iron control might snap. “The bathroom is through that door.” Even now his hands trembled with the need to touch her.

  He eyed her clothing. She was still wearing the simple cotton blouse and jeans she’d had on when she arrived. “I’ll find something for you to sleep in. Tomorrow we’ll work on getting you some clothes.”

  When he returned two minutes later with one of his old T-shirts, Gracie was still in the same spot, her expression stark, haunted. Unwillingly his heart contracted. If she was telling the truth about her amnesia, she must be scared as hell. But sweet and courageous, and so damned appealing in her determination not to break down. The reluctant admiration he felt had to be squashed.

  When he brushed her arm, she jumped, as if she had be
en a million miles away. He offered the substitute sleepwear. “Sorry I can’t do better. You’ll find toiletries in the drawers and on the counter. I let my cousin do the decorating, and she promised me that no bathroom was complete without all sorts of smelly soaps and doodads. Help yourself.”

  Gracie took the shirt and held it, white-knuckled. “Will you be in your bedroom?”

  God help him. He knew she meant nothing by her artless question, but it shook him. “Yeah. As soon as I lock up and turn out the lights.” He paused, feeling uncustomarily conflicted, since he rarely second-guessed himself. “Remember…I’m just around the corner. Maybe if you leave a light on, things won’t seem so strange.”

  She nodded her head slowly. “Okay.”

  Something about her posture was heartbreaking. She was doing nothing to deliberately manipulate his sympathies, but the bravery in her narrow shoulders set so straight and the uplifted tilt of her chin touched him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

  He hardened his heart. “Good night, Gracie.”

  She heard the door shut quietly behind him and felt tears burn her eyes. It took great effort, but she held them at bay by virtue of biting down on her bottom lip and swallowing hard. She refused to let Gareth see her exhibit weakness. He was a hard, suspicious man, despite his physical appeal.

  Even so, she wanted him. And the wanting scared her. She felt like the heroine of a dark, Gothic novel, left all alone with the brooding lord of a sprawling, mysterious house.

  A glance at the clock sent her stumbling into the bathroom. No wonder she was so wiped out. It was late. Everything would look better in the morning. Darkness invariably bred bogeymen and unseen monsters. Her lack of memory fueled the fires of apprehension.

  Gareth had told the truth about the facilities and accoutrements. The floor was inlaid with cream-colored marble veined in gold. An enormous mirror ran the entire length of one wall, showing Gracie reflection after reflection of a strange woman with unkempt hair and no makeup.

  Jacob had covered her stitches with a waterproof bandage. Doggedly she stripped off her clothing and climbed into the enormous polished granite enclosure that boasted three showerheads and a steam valve. The hot water pelted her back and rained over her arms and legs. She bowed her head, braced her hands against the wall and cried.

  When the tears finally ran out, she picked up a fluffy sponge and squirted it with herbal soap from a fancy bottle inscribed in French. The aroma was heavenly.

  Twenty minutes later she forced herself to get out and dry off. Gareth’s T-shirt hung to her knees, half exposing one of her shoulders. The woman in the mirror appeared waifish and very much alone.

  She took a few minutes to wash out her undies and hang them on a brass towel rod to dry before returning to the bedroom. In her absence, Gareth had left several items on the bedside table. A pair of thick woolen socks, a tumbler of water with two pain pills and a copy of Newsweek. She wasn’t sure if the latter was for entertainment or edification.

  She put on the socks, and for the first time all day, felt a glimmer of humor at how ridiculous she looked. Even with no memory, she knew that a man like Gareth had his pick of women. He might be surly and prickly, but he exuded a potent masculinity that any female from eighteen to eighty would have to be blind not to notice.

  Though her accommodations were worthy of the finest resort, sleep didn’t come easily. She tossed and turned, even when the medication dulled the ache in her leg and her head. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered waking up in Gareth’s bed and seeing two strange men staring down at her with varying degrees of suspicion.

  Why had she come to Wolff Mountain? What did she hope to accomplish? Was her father involved in something dishonest? The questions tumbled in her brain faster and faster, erasing any hope of slumber.

  Finally, when the crystal clock on the bedside table read two-thirty, Gracie climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. It wouldn’t hurt to explore the house. She’d seen very little of it so far. Maybe there was something out there that would jog her memory.

  And besides, she was hungry. With her heart beating like a runaway train, she eased open the door to the hall.

  Gareth knew the moment she left her room. He’d always been a light sleeper, at least as an adult, and even the faint whisper of Gracie’s soft footsteps was enough to wake him. His frequent insomnia was the penance he paid for defying his father’s wishes and enlisting in the military. A five-year stint in the army had taught Gareth that deep sleep could be fatal. It served him right for giving his father such grief.

  Gareth crept down the hallway, following the muffled trail of sounds. He found his houseguest in the kitchen. At first, her mission was prosaic. She poured a glass of milk and consumed it with a chunk of cheddar cheese and a slice of bread.

  When she was finished, she carefully washed her glass and saucer and placed them back in the cabinet. Gareth grinned. Did she think she was erasing any record of her nocturnal wanderings?

  His amusement faded when she approached the laptop on the built-in desk. All important files were password protected, but a knowledgeable hacker could cause mischief even still. Gracie sat in the swivel chair, tucked her feet on the rungs and began to hit keys with a sure touch.

  He worked his way around the adjoining room until he was able to approach her from behind. Her head was bent. She was focused intently on the computer screen.

  Gareth’s temper surged. He stepped into the room, girded for battle. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  Her gasp was audible. She whirled to face him, guilt etched on her face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So you decided to poke your nose into my business…is that it?” He glanced down at the laptop and his jaw dropped. Hell. He hated being wrong.

  She shrugged, her expression wry. “Apparently I remember how to play Solitaire.”

  “So I see.”

  She cocked her head and frowned. “Why would I be poking into your business? Do you think that’s the kind of woman I am?”

  He refused to apologize for well-founded suspicion. “I don’t know what kind of woman you are. Therein lies the problem.”

  She shut down the game and stood up. “I’ll go back to my room,” she said, every syllable drenched in offended dignity.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” he muttered. “Do whatever you want.” She wore his T-shirt like a centerfold model striking a pose, but he was a hundred percent certain her seductive invitation was unintentional.

  As he turned to leave, running from temptation if the truth were told, she stopped him with a beseeching look. “Please tell me about your family…this place. Maybe something you say will trigger a memory.”

  “That’s a convenient excuse.” He still wasn’t convinced that Gracie wasn’t a reporter looking for a story. His family had suffered terribly at the hands of the press, the Wolff tragedy and grief offered up for public consumption without remorse. Never again.

  Dark smudges beneath her eyes emphasized her pallor. “Please,” she said quietly. “Anything. Tell me anything. I’ve combed my cell phone and I did a Google search on myself and my father. But I didn’t find out much except that we own a gallery.”

  In spite of himself, compassion surfaced. “You’re on top of a mountain in the Blue Ridge. My family moved here in the eighties. My uncle and my father live in a huge house at the very peak. My siblings and cousins and I are in varying stages of building homes here as well.”

  She frowned. “You all live here together? Like a commune?”

  “Not a commune,” he grated. “It’s over a thousand acres. We’re hardly in each other’s pockets.”

  “So, more like the Kennedys at Hyannis Port.”

  “I suppose. But none of us are in politics, thank God.”

  “You’re wealthy.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You could say that.” It was damned hard to carry on a conversation when he kept getting distracted by the way her nipples p
ressed against the soft knit fabric. All he had to do was reach for her arm and pull her against him. The knowledge dried his mouth. He didn’t think she would stop him. Though not any more vain than the next man, he had seen interest in her unguarded gaze earlier in the day.

  But he was an honorable man. Damn it.

  She frowned. “If I hiked through the woods, how did I know which house was yours?”

  “You had an aerial photograph in your bag.” He shrugged. “My place is circled in black marker.”

  Now, every last shred of color leached from her face. “So all we know for sure is that I was trespassing and that I wanted something from you.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell. And based on the conversation you had with your father, he knows why you came and thinks you’re faking amnesia to get what you want.”

  Her lips twisted. “Maybe I don’t want to remember. It sounds like I’m not a very nice person.” She paused. “Why didn’t I simply drive up the road?”

  “It’s private. You wouldn’t have gotten past the guard gate without an appointment.”

  “Hence my ill-advised hike.”

  “Apparently.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

  “For what?”

  “For whatever I was going to do. I wish I could remember.”

  “When you came to my door, you said you needed to talk to me about something.”

  “And then what happened?”

  He felt his neck redden. “I may have been a trifle unwelcoming.”

  Her mouth fell open, and a flicker of emotion akin to fear flashed in her eyes. “You pushed me off your porch?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. No. Of course not. All I did was tell you to leave. Forcefully. You backed away from me, and…”

  “I fell.”

  “Yes.” He was uncomfortably aware that the family lawyer would be hyperventilating by now if he were here to track the conversation. Gareth had pretty much incriminated himself.

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It was an accident. And you were breaking the law. So don’t go getting any ideas about draining us dry. We have a legal team that would chew you to pieces.”